Tethered
by NellietheMarvelous
Summary: This is honestly pure smut. "She hates him. Okay, it's a lie. She loves him but at this very moment with her hands restrained by the cool metal of her own police cuffs...she really hates him."


**Disclaimer: I don't own Castle.  
**

**A/N: So this was actually Saturday Smut from last week. My computer quit working and had to be fixed which took way longer than it was supposed to. BUT, I have it back now and I'm posting everything that should've been posted over the last week.  
**

**Pure smut. Consider yourselves warned now.**

She hates him. Okay, it's a lie. She loves him but at this very moment with her hands restrained by the cool metal of her own police cuffs...she really hates him. The click had startled her, pulled her from their naked make-out session with wide eyes that did nothing to deter his smirk. And she could have pulled away easily before he got the other wrist, but part of her - the part she's now cursing - trusted him enough to let this happen. To let him take over...but she hadn't expected him to be like _this.  
_

_Yes. No. Candles - really? Candles?  
_

So many things rushing through her, she wants this. She doesn't want this. She's cursing at him before he ever touches her. Telling him that he better release her. He doesn't. He spends hours - okay, so it's probably fifteen minutes but her brain isn't functioning enough to distinguish between minutes and hours - just skimming his fingertips over her skin, trailing down her neck, dancing over her breasts. Playfully pinching a nipple just to make her gasp.

She'd bite him if she could reach. Retaliate. But he's already lowering himself, sliding down to swirl his tongue around her navel, dig his fingers into her sides. Just a brief hot encounter with her skin before he pushes her thighs apart, kneels between. She knows what's coming and she open her mouth, ready to tell him that she's done playing.

She tries, she does. Her body just fights against her. His touch pulling a strangled sob from her throat as his fingers skim over her folds. He makes it impossible. She wants to scold him, yell, demand that he uncuff her. But it's his breath against her thigh, hot lips pushing into her skin, fingers slipping easily through her slick flesh. She hates him for this. She does but her body says otherwise. The simmer in her blood becoming a boil, hot, uncomfortable, aching. Need. She needs him. And oh how she wishes she didn't.

Until his teeth sink into her thigh, sharp and unforgiving, pulling a cry from her lungs as two fingers slip inside. No resistance. Her body offers none but her brain is still cursing him, planning payback. Because this is too much. Too much of everything and goddamn, she needs to move. She wants to touch him, pull him closer, flip him over, ride him until she can't feel her legs anymore. Instead, she's splayed on the bed, arms overhead and hips shifting as he curls his fingers inside of her. She keens, straining against the cuffs, a high pitched whine - not the command she was aiming for. It's a plea. A beg. Her body betraying her. Already perspiring with need, a thin sheen coating her skin. She's too hot. Overheated. Needing some kind of relief and he isn't giving it.

She pulls hard against the restraints, metal biting into her skin the very second he stops teasing. When his lips push into her, tongue slipping out to taste and she's moaning, arms fighting, hands wanting to bury themselves in his hair, pull him closer and make him _stop _teasing. She's already throbbing, humming, absolutely flushed and filled with want. Lust and love. An ache that's becoming too much. Too intense. Burning through her, incinerating every shred of control she has until she's panting, chest heaving with every thrust of his fingers, every curl and flick of his tongue.

_Oh God. _This is his revenge - she knows. He's enjoying every second of this and the moan that vibrates into her skin, punctuated with an obscene suck is more than enough proof. As much as she hates that she can't touch, can't take over, fingers clenching until her knuckles are white, she's so worked up, so close, so near to the edge that she's powerless. A thrumming ball of pleasure ready to explode has settled in her loins, growing stronger.

"_Castle,_" He stops at the strained sound of his name, raising his head to smirk at her and _god, no._ That's not what she wants. More. She just wants _more. _She needs to regain some semblance of control. And she attempts it with a twist of her hips, not expecting him to meet her with a sharp flick of his wrist.

"Easy, Beckett."

She drops her head back to the pillow, moaning at the gruff sound of her name. The pure sex dripping from every letter, every syllable, the bite he adds to the 't'. Her body pulsing with it. She's going to murder him, absolutely kill him for this.

She lets out a breath, stuttered and it does nothing. Nothing to calm her. He has her so wound at this point, she's picturing a multitude of ways to completely render him unconscious using just her legs. But that gets her no satisfaction at all. With another sigh, she rolls her hips into him, chest heaving, air rushing from her lungs when he dips his head and nuzzles her stomach.

She can feel her hair sticking to her skin - wishes she could push it out of her face, forgets about the cuffs and tries to move but the metal pinches her skin. Abusing it, leaving it aching. A dull ache compared to the roar between her thighs. She tosses her head to the side, tries to stop squirming with each scrape of stubble against her, sinking lower with every hot open mouthed kiss. But she's climbing, heels digging into the mattress, pushing up until he's chuckling against her hip.

"S'not funny." She wants to say more, but she doesn't. Can't find the words to tell him that she's imploding or that he needs to _hurry the fuck up _because the slow touch, the gentle exploration of his fingers, the slide in and out, the way he pauses, let's them leave her to trail over her thigh, all of it is bubbling, coiling too tightly, bordering on painful.

The hot slide of his slick fingers against her inner thigh, the way he nips at her hip bone, she just doesn't know if she can take it anymore. The pulse in her muscles, the clench of her walls, the need to be filled. And the bastard is _smiling_ against her. She's not sure she's ever been this worked up, this hot and this wet so quickly - never let a guy have this kind of control.

She hates him for it. She _loves _him for it. Her eyes slam closed on a sharp bite to her hip, teeth pulling at her skin until she's trying to clench her thighs but his hands won't let her. The noise of the cuffs rattling and her heavy breaths are the only sounds in the room, and then a long drawn out moan as he dips his head, lets his mouth find her once again.

That mouth. Those lips against her - finally. Finally but it isn't the sweet relief she's hoped for. The burn in her body, the fire raging stronger, hotter, sweeping through every vein. Legs shaking, muscle spasms - weak and heavy. It worsens with the flick of his tongue. Teasing - still teasing and she pulls hard against the metal encasing her wrists, making them bruise. She needs the release that builds, twists in her core, makes her body tremble...but he isn't _giving _it.

"Castle," It's supposed to be harsh, a demand but she's too close, too winded, and it's choked out on a long moan. A beg.

She doesn't do this. Giving someone full control, the ability to explore her body the way he is. The hand gripping her hip - holding her down. The fingers curling inside the slick heat of her, the tongue sliding over her clit, his lips burning, the gentle suction that has her cursing, legs moving to lock around his shoulders. The low rumble of the word "fuck" leaving her mouth when he nips at her sensitive flesh.

He doesn't stop, doesn't slow back down, instead opting for something quick, a twist of his fingers that has her hips flying off the mattress. It becomes a mantra of _Castle, oh god, fuck, harder. _Over and over. Words tumbling from her lips until she chokes on his name.

The lewd sound of his hand working against her, the air escaping from her lungs in loud panting, and she's almost there. She can feel it, the tingle in her muscles, the contracting of her walls around his fingers, just a few more thrusts and she'll be free. Free of the tension, the ache, the raw need that's coiled so tightly, embedded in her bones and wrapped through every inch of her body. Pulling her together, making her curl in on herself, fight with the cuffs holding her back.

She can taste it. Just a little more.

_Oh. Oh yes, there._ And just as she feels herself lift, ready to be submerged by the first wave, the clench in her abdomen hardening, becoming so tight she's digging her heels into his shoulders, he pulls away. Abandons her completely and she opens her eyes, gasping, feeling the orgasm she's craving slip out of reach and no. _No no no_.

"Castle, I swear if you don't -"

"Trust me." She does. That's the problem. That's what got her into this mess. This sweaty, aroused, unsatisfied mess. She's clenching her legs around him, rolling her hips, trying to make him _do_ something.

He isn't touching her anymore, hands on either side of her hips and even when she tightens her legs, forcing him closer, he only slides himself up, brushing over her, hips settling against hers. The feel of him hard and heavy. She needs it, needs him. She knows he's barely holding back, can tell by the look in his eyes when he rocks against her. Completely accidental and exactly what she wants.

His fingers slip over her skin easily, the sweat that's already accumulated aiding their sweep up her ribcage. And he's watching her, gauging her reaction with curious lust burning in his eyes as he swipes a thumb over the side of her breast. A shiver wreaking havoc through her at just the tiniest brush. The scent of her lingering between them and the way he licks his lips has her pushing off the mattress, mouth open, needing, wanting, craving. A mirror of her body. And he's so close but her shoulders protest, body unable to erase the distance. She lingers, waiting, hoping he'll come to her. Just a little more and her nose will bump his, if she strains.

"Please," She startles at the sound of it leaving her lips, at the request that's hidden within it. She's crossing over. From frustrated and just a little mad at him to soft and begging._ No. _Shut up. She won't do it.

He's already smirking, and she knows she's losing this battle. But it works, his lips engulf hers and she almost sobs in relief when he slides his hand back down, gripping the back of her thigh. The touch of his tongue against hers, the way he ghosts his fingers over the back of her knee, she's already right at the edge again. Her hips rising, rubbing against him until he's moaning into her.

She wants to touch him too. Feel his muscles ripple beneath her fingers, collect the strands of his hair - already damp with sweat. She wants to grab his ass, pull him into her, make him fill her. She sinks her teeth into his lip, swallowing the gasp he lets out. He shifts into her, body heavy and welcome, pressing her into the mattress and that's when she pulls away with a sharp cry. It's too much. Too soon. And the moment she feels him just barely push inside, hot and hard and perfect, she's almost unraveling.

Clenching around him and spine bowing as he cups her cheek and gives a thrust. She's too sensitive, too worked up.

"Open your eyes, Kate." She does, letting them flutter as he settles. She swallows roughly, wetting her lips as he pushes the hair sticking to her face back out of the way. He kisses her, a harsh clash of lips and she braces herself. Knows what's coming when his arm wraps around her back, lifts her hips.

She knows before he slides out and thrusts back in that she's in for it. And she wants it. The quick pace, the hard slap of his body against hers. She arches into him, accepts everything he gives. Each rough jerk, the way he stretches her, she takes it, gives back just as good. Even with her hands out of commission, she's still rolling into him, throwing her head back when he hits just the right spot. Making the heaviness in her abdomen flare, the heat between her thighs burst.

She barely gets out a 'harder' before all of her muscles contract, the orgasm shredding through her, sharp, hard, a long storm. Waves pitching her forward, into him. The drive of his hips as she grips him with her inner muscles. Keening his name, begging for something more, something, anything as his body pushes and pulls with hers.

"Please," It's a whimper this time. "Castle, please."

He's panting, probably incapable of hearing anything over the sounds their bodies are making, and the rush of blood in his ears but she needs him to hear. She needs it because she's still pulsing, still wanting. Her muscles still tight and unforgiving.

"Castle, uncuff me. Let me go." He's groaning into her shoulder, slowing the pace and she barely hears the scrape of the key against the nightstand. But she does. And her entire body is singing in relief. "I need to touch you, I need -"

She feels it, the release of one wrist and that's all it takes. One hand free and she's wrapping an arm around his shoulders, fingers hungrily roaming his skin, feeling the bunch of his muscles with every jerk of his body, every welcome invasion into hers. And as soon as both wrists are free, she's gripping his hair, clinging to him as he grows unsteady, thrusts nothing more than quick short strokes.

The moment he surges into her, breath hot against her ear, she decides that letting him have his way wasn't so bad at all. But she'll never tell him that. She won't. And when he groans against her neck, hands digging into her hips, she whispers to him, eases him through it as he spills into her. Just a soft promise of next time, their bodies falling limp as neither of them have anything left.

A mess of limbs, tangled, sweaty, bodies dampened and sated. He's the first to move, pulling away only briefly before settling at her side. She doesn't move. Isn't sure she's capable. Her legs feel like jello, arms aching and heavy. She doesn't say a word, doesn't need to, just gives him a soft smile and cuddles closer.

* * *

She knows before she ever steps into the shower behind him the next morning that she's going to be stuck wearing long sleeves today, the bruising around her wrists, the redness of a couple spots she rubbed raw. She regrets nothing. Although she's still planning a payback. Something equally as frustrating and satisfying for him.

She gives herself a moment to admire. The shape of his backside, eyes lingering as he leans forward for the soap and as soon as he straightens, she's stepping up behind him, pressing her mouth between his shoulder blades. He stiffens and she smiles into his skin, waiting as she wraps her arms around his waist. He doesn't relax.

He grows more tense, stepping away from her to submerge himself under the spray. It almost hurts her feelings. It would have but he's already reaching for her fingers, pulling her under the waterfall. It's hot, sinking into her skin, the pound of it easing her muscles. Kate leans into him, eyes opening as he pulls her hands up between them.

She sees it in his gaze, the way he looks at her wrists. He feels guilty. He doesn't need to. And she gives him a tilt of her lips, soft with no blame as he softly kisses her abused skin.

"M'sorry."

"Don't be." He nuzzles her palm, lips resting against it until she slides it up his cheek, fingers wrapping around his ear. Water slipping over them, plastering his hair to his head and making him look even more broody. Her brooding writer. "I would've made you stop. Doesn't even hurt."

The look he gives lets her know that he doesn't believe her and that's okay because she doesn't really expect him to.

"Turn around." The request makes her raise an eyebrow, slowly turning and accepting that the conversation has ended for now. The snap of a bottle and the scent of something floral wafting through the shower. And then his fingers are slipping through her hair, massaging her scalp and she's leaning back into him, making it almost impossible for him to work her hair into a lather but it feels really good.

She hinders the process more than once when he tries to help her wash, slipping suds over her skin, fingers trailing along behind. Her body canting towards his, mouth stealing kisses. He gets her back, unable to hold still when she scrubs his back, down his thighs, circling around to tease. And then he's the one pulling her around, pressing her into the wall.

This is why she doesn't do showers with him when she needs to be at work. She never wants to leave and he doesn't seem to be in any hurry either. They have some time, she knows.

And when she helps him out of the shower, massaging his skin with a fluffy towel as he gets a bit too handsy with hers, she tells him that they have a few minutes. Just enough. If they make them count. She makes him wait in the bathroom, running out quickly to grab something from the nightstand, already linking one side around her left wrist and palming the key - just in case.

She has an idea.

One that ends with the key next to sink and her seated on the counter, his palm against hers, cuffs keeping their wrists together. Left to right this time. His body surging into hers, over and over, something soft and slow. Nothing frantic like last night. This is easy. Just them. Him worrying over her wrists and her shushing him with a kiss that has them both breathless.

She makes him forget, makes him give in. With her hips twisting into his, his teeth closing over her earlobe. The long slick slide of him. In and out. A gentle rocking. Their cuffed hands slipping between them, his thumb circling over her, dragging her fingers with it. Teamwork. And she laughs against his shoulder, the sound a choked out huff as he presses into her. Over and over. Nothing as intense as she felt last night. This easy wave, the coil in her abdomen. Easy. Slow. Soft.

Skin against skin, bodies meeting, hands stroking and she drops her head against his shoulder, clinging when she feels the snap, the clench. The grip of her walls, fluttering around him. Gentle. She links their fingers, pulls them up to rest on the edge of the counter as he tugs her closer, moves deeper. She laughs again when he whispers to her.

"Without the tiger." It shouldn't be amusing but it is.

"Oh I don't know Castle, I can be pretty feral."

"Jesus Kate," It's the vibrations of her laugh that does him in. She knows as soon as the gutteral groan leaves his lips. The jerk of his thrusts becoming sloppy. And the force behind it when he surges into her one last time. Pushing, stretching, clinging to her. She kisses his ear, his cheek, any skin within reach, his temple. Her thumb brushing over his knuckles, the handcuffs clanging against the sink.

"And I bite sometimes." She nips his cheek, lips ghosting over, nose nudging his. "But I most likely won't kill you."

"I'm not so sure about that."

"As much as I'd love to keep going with this, we need to get dressed and head out." She pulls back, reaching for the key she placed next to her hip, fingers searching and her eyes widening with every kiss he presses to her shoulder. "Castle,"

"Hm?"

"Castle, what did you do with the key?"

"What key?" She grips his hair, tugs him away from her collarbone. Eying him and realizing he's completely clueless. Panic already rising in her chest, she glances at the floor. Thinks it must have fallen at some point.

"The key to my cuffs, I don't see it." It isn't there, not in the floor, that she can see and she's already shoving him, making him step back so she can slip off the counter, land on her feet. "Don't just stand there! Help me look."

"Where do you want me to look, Kate, you're kinda stuck with me." He jangles their hands in emphasis and she groans. This is not what she wanted to happen. This is not...oh...her eyes catch on the sink. The drain.

"Please, no."

"You think it went down the -"

"Do you still carry a key in your wallet - please say yes." But she knows. Before he ever blinks at her and makes a face. Eyes scrunching as if he suddenly regrets something. And she knows because she's the one who took it out. Jokingly. Weeks ago when she'd cuffed him to one of the bar stools in his loft. Something Nikki related.

He doesn't have a key. And hers just took a dive down the drain.

**a/n: For those that have been waiting for this this. ;)  
**


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